


that remorseless joy of dereliction

by summerstorm



Category: Once Upon a Time (2011)
Genre: Episode Tag, F/M, Handcuffs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-06
Updated: 2011-12-06
Packaged: 2017-10-27 00:43:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/289687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerstorm/pseuds/summerstorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Whatever you're thinking, please remember you're an officer of the law now," Graham says warily, "and it would make us look bad if you went around breaking it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	that remorseless joy of dereliction

**Author's Note:**

> Holiday fic for empressearwig, who prompted "handcuffs." Written before 1.06.

"Whatever you're thinking, please remember you're an officer of the law now," Graham says warily, his eyes narrowed, "and it would make us look bad if you went around breaking it."

Emma fingers the standard-issue handcuffs she picked up, weighing them in her hands. His office is small, and they're both standing on the same side of his desk; her knuckles bump against the edge.

"Who's us?" she asks.

"Me as sheriff, mainly."

"I see," Emma says, nodding, holding back a smirk. "And Regina as ruler of the tenth kingdom."

"Well, I wouldn't put it quite like that," he says easily, "but she _is_ the mayor."

Rolling her eyes, Emma says, "Who says I'm going to do anything? I thought this was a safe town. Lowest crime rate in all of New England or something. Do you guys even rank?" She hooks the cuffs into a belt loop, unhooks them again. The pair in the trunk of her car is better, but these will do. She's still holding out for a gun, but today may not be the best day to ask for it. Plus, seriously: what would she need a gun for? This place is worse than a plush book for three-year-olds. She'd starve here if she was still working on commission.

"I'm sure now that you're around someone will take up a life of crime," Graham says with a half smile.

They're close enough that it only takes Emma half a step in his direction to be too close for comfort. He straightens up, the hand he was leaning on his desk with disappearing into his back pocket. He shifts backwards without moving his feet, his back a sharp, slant line, his eyes still trained on Emma. "Piss off an officer of the law just to spite them? That doesn't sound very smart."

Graham offers a one-shouldered shrug. "Maybe it will be to entertain you."

"I think that role is taken," Emma says. "Between Regina's overwhelming desire to have me locked in a cell and your ready cooperation whenever she needs me arrested—"

"It's called law enforcement—"

Emma ignores him. "Not to mention the fact that you brought me back here to _watch_ you write a report on something everyone in this town, including you, won't forget about for a while."

"Paperwork isn't a waste of time," Graham counters.

Emma raises her eyebrows. "It is when I could be doing something else." The look on his face is incredulous, so she adds, "Like relaxing back at home after being perilously lowered into the unsound, underground equivalent of an elevator shaft."

"Oh, yeah?"

"My roommate makes a mean cup of coffee," Emma says flatly.

"I didn't make you come in," Graham says, looking back to lean with one hand on the back of a chair, failing to put any distance between him and Emma — too proud to be seen recoiling; got it. "It was merely a suggestion."

She steps back just to raise her voice, says, "You lured me in with promises of shiny new things!" She lifts the handcuffs pointedly, tossing them from hand to hand before resting the balls of her hands on her hips, balancing the cuffs on her fingers.

"And you came _why_?"

Emma shrugs and lets her lids linger down when she blinks, eying his wrist. "I had an outstanding debt," she says, and watches him frown until a metallic click rings around the room and the metal of the cuffs touches his skin.

His mouth opens silently, halfway between gaping and resignation, like he can't believe he didn't see this coming, but he doesn't make a move to get away before she hooks the other cuff around the metal bar down the side of the chair. She steps back to admire her handiwork and nods to herself, pleased.

"I can see why you like this," she says.

"This is exactly what I mean about abusing your power." He's crouching over one side; he could sit down if he wanted to. The chair has its side to him, but it's not like it can't be moved. Or like he doesn't have more than enough wiggle room to move it.

Her eyebrows raise, the smugness that comes from having the upper hand. "Someone has to hold the police accountable."

His laugh crackles out of his mouth, breathless and still smiling as he says, "Accountable for _what_?"

"I'm sure I could find something in all that meticulous paperwork," says Emma, and slips a foot between his legs, turning the chair and dragging it towards her until it hits the back of his knees and he takes the hint. Then, she sets her hands on each arm rest and leans forward, hovering. He looks up, and this time it's Emma who pulls away, lifting herself onto her toes. Softly, both because of the proximity and because she didn't mean this as a funny sort of joke, she says, "How does that feel?"

"Like you're having a little too much fun with this," he breathes; she licks her lips as he speaks, and his glance flickers to her mouth.

"Maybe I'll leave you here all night," Emma says plainly. "Can't be any more uncomfortable than a holding cell."

He could get himself out easily, if he's any good at his job and has anything useful in his pockets, but something flashes over his face, and for a moment Emma wonders if he's going to say he will, if she tells him to. He doesn't seem like the type — or rather, his situation makes it unlikely; sheriff though he may be, Regina seems to wield most of his power — but he could be. It wouldn't be a big surprise, comparatively.

He doesn't say anything, though, and she feels his hand touch hers on the arm rest just before she realizes he's rising on his seat — bringing their faces close enough to kiss her.

It would be a lie to say this wasn't in her plans, and she's had enough games for one day, so she responds readily, parting her lips, taking charge. She grabs his wrist when he brings his free hand up to her face, holding it beside her shoulder until he tugs down. His fingers slide down her side and settle on her hip, his thumb pulling at a belt loop.

She deliberately refrains from deepening the kiss; she likes to be halfway comfortable for that sort of thing, and crouched over a chair isn't anywhere near it. It's still nice; Graham doesn't have such qualms, and the kiss isn't exactly shallow or weak, not with him pushing every time she pulls back.

Eventually, he stops touching her, hand falling palm down by his thigh on the chair. She tugs lightly at his lip with her teeth before breaking away, the best way she knows to keep herself from smirking, to pretend she doesn't know he had his hand in her pocket seconds ago. She had a pickpocket phase; she can tell when someone's stealing something from her.

"The rule book," he begins, voice rough. She rolls her eyes, and he clears his throat. "I think there's something in the rule book against this sort of thing."

She straightens up and grabs her jacket from the other chair, pulls it on. "This has nothing to do with my job," she says, pointing at the cuffs with her eyes. She refuses to have a conversation about fraternizing with one's boss. She's been down that road before, and this is nothing like that.

He tilts his head and looks at her with big, pitiful eyes, but there's a smile playing underneath his lips, so she doesn't pay it any more attention than strictly necessary. He shakes his head, too, and says, "That's what I'm worried about."

She'd talk to him about overacting, but she can't picture a situation ever arising in this town that would require him to act. Maybe some other time, when she's bored during actual working hours.

"Get yourself out," she says as she heads for the door, not bothering to look back. "I'll see you in the morning."


End file.
